Unexpected Places
by kidenagain
Summary: Post-iSaved Your Life. Pre-Seddie. "Your friend - Freddie? - he's going to be okay," the driver says. "He's going to be okay."


It's squealing tires, the sun too bright and Sam is just squinting, holding her hand above her eyes like a visor. She says _Freddie?_, and Freddie is screaming Carly's name, already running.

Later, she'll think she heard the sound of his bones breaking. A sickening snap, the crunch of bone rubbing against bone. But she didn't.

Carly is in the middle of the street, her pink bunny suit red everywhere with Freddie's blood, fumbling with her cell phone. She's yelling to the 911 operator, _please please_, and _he's bleeding everywhere, and he's unconscious_.

Sam talks slow and clear into her cell phone. She tells them the intersection, her name. His name.

She says, "Fredward Benson."

In the street, Carly is kneeling next to Freddie, crying, her fingers on the pulse at his neck, then at his wrist. The sun is bright and the truck driver takes off his t-shirt, rips it in half and wraps the pieces around Freddie's leg and arm, ties them up tight. He's saying he's sorry, and he didn't see, and _Jesus Christ, why didn't you look, you're supposed to look before you cross the street_.

This roaming taco salesman, he's shaking, looking up and down the street for the ambulance, and he's crying.

Everyone is crying.

Except Freddie, who's not doing anything. Not moving. Not yelling. Not anything.

And not Sam, who backs up until her ankles hit the curb and she falls backwards onto the sidewalk, her cell phone slipping out of her hand and cracking against the concrete, the pieces spinning spinning out everywhere.

"Go tell Spencer!" Carly is shouting. "Sam! Go upstairs and tell Spencer, I'm going with Freddie in the ambulance."

Sirens blaring, the ambulance disappears down the street and around a corner, and Sam isn't moving at all until the truck driver hoists her up, hands wrapped too tight around her upper arms. He's saying, kid, hey kid, and _come on, girl, snap out of it_.

"He wasn't moving," Sam says.

"Your friend - Freddie? - he's going to be okay," the driver says. "He's going to be okay."

Sam grabs three tacos off the truck, like nothing, it's nothing, says, "I'm taking these for free."

The driver nods dumbly. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm starving," Sam says. And she's cool. Everything is fine. Normal. Everything is okay. "I have to go." She grabs Freddie's backpack, his camera, Carly's cell phone she left in the street, and takes off running.

"Yeah," the driver says, and sits down on the back of his truck, waits for the police.

* * *

Spencer grabs his keys and his jacket, he's going to pick up Freddie's mother ("She's in no shape to drive," he says) and they are going to the hospital. The expectant look on his face is enough for Sam to turn towards the kitchen island and away from him. "Go," she says. "I'm going to stay here."

"Sam." Spencer's voice is hard in a way she's rarely heard it before. For once, he sounds like the adult he is.

"Just go!" she snaps. "I'm not going."

The sound of the door slamming turns her stomach, and Sam runs to the bathroom, vomits up the three tacos she just inhaled. Resting her forehead against the cool porcelain, she heaves once, and then again, until all that's coming up is bile. And then, finally, she's crying - like a dam breaking, like open floodgates.

* * *

By the time Spencer calls, Sam is sitting at the bus stop and has been for over an hour, has already watched four buses pass her by. The sun is down and it's started to rain, but it's always raining. He's fine, Spencer says. His leg is broken, and his arm, but he's fine. Awake. Loopy with pain medication.

Spencer says, "You should be here."

Sam says, "Yeah, well," and hangs up on him.

* * *

Victory is, most of the time, extremely fleeting. Spencer washes up while Sam continues her victory dances all over their living room, and for a brief minute or two, she forgets. She moves her hips and arms and flips her hair, and nothing can touch her. Across the room Spencer laughs and joins in with her dancing, because he's a lot of things, but never a sore loser.

It's okay.

* * *

"So, are you guys, like, boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Carly sighs, her face stretched into a smile. "I don't know," she says, "no. Yes. Maybe."

Giggling, she pulls her comforter over her head and says, "Don't hit me."

Sam grabs the hem of the blanket and tugs it down just enough so she can see Carly's eyes, she says, "I am _not_ going to hit you. Yes, no, or maybe?"

"I hope so. I mean, every time I look at him now my stomach gets all butterfly-y and my palms start sweating and I just want to kiss his face all over." Carly takes a deep breath, "Are you mad?"

"Why would I be mad about that? It's your lips, you can kiss anyone you want."

"Yeah, but -." She twists her fingers into the blanket and watches as Sam falls backwards on the bed, her head hitting the pillows softly. "I just thought. Maybe. I don't know, nevermind."

"It's cool," Sam says and kicks off her shoes. "Are you sure it's for real love though?"

"Yeah," Carly whispers, more to herself than Sam. "I think it really might be. He _saved my life_, Sam. I mean, it has to be, doesn't it?"

Sam digs her toes into Carly's thigh playfully, says, "Of course it is. So, Rock Band?"

"Rock Band," Carly agrees, grinning.

* * *

She can be happy for them. She can be so happy.

Except that she can't. Because she knows that look in Carly's eyes, she's seen it in her own. And she knows how this will end, even if they can't see it yet. She loved loved loved Noseby Moseby, because Noseby Moseby loved her. He loved her and gave her bacon, the most delicious bacon she'd ever tasted, and she _loved_ him for that. Once that sweet, sweet bacon love dried up though, so did her love for Noseby Moseby.

The biting tone of her voice, she can't stop that. Nor does she want to. Freddie tells her to stop and Carly hardly glances at her as she makes her way to class. But it's okay, because Carly isn't the one she wants to talk to. Maybe she should feel bad, going behind Carly's back and all, but she doesn't. This isn't about Carly – because the truth is, Carly isn't doing anything wrong. It's easy to _think_you're in love, easier still to look at someone you've always known and see them again, for the first time.

So she reminds Freddie about Noseby Moseby and his foreign bacon. And she's not lying when she tells him that he knows it's true.

Freddie's the smartest person she knows, and yeah, maybe he would've figured it out for himself. But Sam can't wait that long.

* * *

He keeps calling himself an idiot, and if Sam has to hear it one more time, she's going to break his other leg.

"You did the right thing," she says tersely. "Now drop it."

"But she _wanted_ me! And I'm just like, no thanks Carly, I've only been dreaming about this since I was ten, but _I'm good_. I even made disgust-face with her ton-"

"O-kay," Sam says, pressing her hand over his mouth. "That's enough of that. Although, me vomiting would greatly improve this conversation."

"No," he says, shifting himself around on his bed. "You're right. I want her to want me, normal-me. Not I Saved Your Life me."

"Right. So, anyway, what's with the pain? I thought you were all hopped-up on pain meds?"

Sam scoots down his bed a little, his cast pressing against the small of her back. "Aren't they working?"

"Yeah, but my mom is afraid of me developing a drug problem. Which somehow doesn't trump the broken bones." He rolls his eyes, says, "It's not bad. It's just better if I'm not constantly on it, you know?"

Nodding, Sam moves again – a little too far back – and bumps into his leg. Freddie hunches forward, a horrible sort of strangled sound coming out of him, sharp in Sam's ears. She jumps up immediately, her hands wrapping around his leg, she says, "Oh shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -."

"Sam!" Freddie shouts, "too rough! Too rough! Stop touching!"

She takes a few steps back, holding her hands above her head, "No touching! Sorry. Oh, my God, what is _wrong_ with me."

"It's okay," Freddie says, breathing heavily and gesturing for her to sit back down. "Just – be careful, okay? I know you are naturally a beast, but I'm wounded here."

But Sam doesn't move closer at all. Her hands drop down to her side and she's just looking at him, a long, awkward silence stretching between them. Freddie sighs, "Sam, seriously, I'm fine. _It's_ fine."

"It is _not_ fine," she says, breathless. "None of this is _fine_."

"Sam -."

"You could have _died_! Don't you understand?" She takes a step forward, shaking her head, "You could be dead."

"Carly _could've died_," Freddie shouts back at her, sitting up carefully.

"I know that, you don't think I know that?" Sam sits in front of him on the bed, mindful of his leg. Her voice shaking, she whispers, "But you were just there in the street, bleeding all over the place, and you weren't _moving_, Freddie. And I couldn't breathe. You looked dead. I thought you were _dead_."

"I-," Freddie clears his throat, shaking his head. "I don't know what to say. I'm not sorry for what I did."

She's crying, and hates herself for it. Reaching out, Sam twists her fingers into Freddie's t-shirt angrily, "You're such an idiot."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, but I would do it again. And again." Freddie places a hand on her shoulder and pushes slightly, and Sam raises her head to look at him. "I'd do it for either of you, you know? You're my best friends. I couldn't live with myself if-."

She pulls away and grabs the collar of his shirt roughly. "Don't. Don't ever do that for me. I swear to God, Freddie. Promise me."

Freddie says he highly doubts the situation will arise. He removes her hands from his shirt, and says, "I don't think that's the sort of thing that happens twice in a lifetime. But, I can't promise that."

The bed moves just a little when Sam scoots even closer to him, wiping her eyes. She says, her voice hard, "I'm only going to say this once, and then we are never speaking of it again. I could not live with myself if something happened to you. If anything – and it was because of me – I _couldn't_, okay? So, promise me."

"Okay," Freddie says, taken-back. "Okay."

* * *

Home is quiet, for once, and Sam is eternally grateful. Her mother greets her with a quick wave towards the microwave, where Sam finds half of a potpie and four french fries. She slams the microwave door shut and instead grabs a pudding cup and a can of punch from the refrigerator.

He's a jerk, she thinks, closing and locking her bedroom door behind her. He's a jerk idiot who is stupid and has no idea – no _fucking_ idea - about anything. Ever.

It's a half-hour of listening to her iPod, three more pudding cups, and a bag of Doritos before she hears her cell phone ringing. The display says 'Freddio' and as much as she wants to silence it, she flips open the phone, says, "What?"

"I've been calling, you didn't answer."

"Obviously. What do you want?"

"Open your window."

Sam rolls her eyes and shuffles over to her bedroom window, throws it open. Freddie is standing on her lawn, with his stupid crutches and his stupid face, and ridiculous _everything_. She says, "How did you get here?"

"I took my medication and a bus," he says. "Dude, you were crying."

"Shut up," she says, but doesn't close the window.

"Sam, seriously," he says, shifting the crutches a little. "I laid there for ten minutes after you left, and I can't -. You were crying. Over _me_."

"Do you want me to break the rest of your bones?" she says viciously. "Just forget it."

There is a beat, and then another, and Freddie says, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you -. I'm just sorry."

She takes a step away from the window, and then a deep steadying breath. Then leans forward again, says, forcing out a laugh, "Good idea hiking this far all broken and useless, what if someone tried to take advantage of you in your weakened state?"

"My weakened state?" Freddie repeats, laughing.

"Oh, you're right. It's really no different than your normal state."

Freddie looks up at her, his expression soft, a genuine and child-like smile on his face. And oh, Sam knows, with that smile, that she's given him too much. His chest rises and falls heavily, and she can hear the sigh he exhales – it's not annoyed or tired or angry – it's content, and ends with a small chuckle she has to strain to catch.

"Let's go get a smoothie."

Sam huffs out a laugh. "It's late. Groovy Smoothie is closed."

"I have fruit at home," he says, tilting his head to the side and raising an eyebrow.

Sam rests her elbows on the windowsill and says, amused, "You're not going to make it home by yourself are you?"

"Hell no," Freddie says immediately. "I am a big ball of ache."

He's letting her off the hook, and Sam is smart enough not to pass up the offer. She says, "I'll grab my coat, moron."

"I'll be waiting here!" Freddie shouts as she closes her window. "Suffering silently!"


End file.
